


The Weather Outside Is Frightful

by ReneeMR



Category: Hghlander - Fandom
Genre: Christmas, Duncan. Joe, Highlander - Freeform, M/M, Methos/Duncan - Freeform, methos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-04
Updated: 2003-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReneeMR/pseuds/ReneeMR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just before Christmas there's a blizzard in Seacouver. However will Methos and Mac pass the time together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weather Outside Is Frightful

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chuck, the relief bartender at Joe's, grimaced as he slid a twenty across the bar. "Man, you nailed that one."

Joe clapped the man on the shoulder. "Told you not to bet with Adam."

There was a muted laugh from MacLeod. "You didn't stand a chance, Chuck." The Scot looked over at his friend. Tapped his nose and nodded. "Adam can smell snow."

The ancient immortal chose to ignore the jibe.

Joe looked up at the TV. "Weather Channel says more snow, Mac," he pointed to the screen. They were showing live shots from just a few hours north of Seacouver. "You really got this one, Adam. Think we'll have a white Christmas this year?"

"Oh, please. Spare me," Methos rolled his eyes. "Ten to one it's gone before Mac's birthday."

Chuck looked at Joe and MacLeod. Then he raised his hands. "Not me. Learned my twenty-buck lesson." The man laughed and went to pour another patron a beer.

"So, you guys want to stay at my place?"

"Huh?" Joe looked confused for a moment. "Oh, because of the blizzard? Nah. Amy's got that spare room. And it's on the ground floor."

Methos nodded. "Ah, right." He turned to the Highlander. "Mac, invitation's open to you too."

"I'll be fine, Adam. The loft…"

"Is drafty, and you can't heat it worth a damn. The power goes out, and you'll freeze."

"And thaw," came the expected retort. "Besides, what about your place? It'll be the same."

"Not at all. *My* place has a real fireplace. Come on, Mac, we'll roast hot dogs and make s'mores." Methos' eyes twinkled. "Humor me, Mac?"

The Scot sighed. "Well, when you ask so--nicely."

"Great!" The old man slipped off his bar stool and grabbed their coats. "I'll follow you to the dojo. You can leave your car there."

MacLeod thought about it. Methos' SUV was a better vehicle to use in the inclement weather. "Sure. I can pick up clothes and my computer."

"Cool. Have any marshmallows?"  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Home again, home again." Methos punched in the access code on the apartment door and it clicked open. He stood aside to let MacLeod enter first. And couldn't help but laugh. He used an index finger to push his guest's jaw back in place.

"Adam Pierson get a raise?" MacLeod looked around the great room.

"No. Adam Pierson is apartment sitting for a `close personal friend.' Very rich, very reclusive. We just happen to have the same eclectic taste." Methos took their coats and put them away.

He pointed to the hallway. "Bedroom's on the left. Bed's an oversize king. We'll both fit."

The Highlander stopped short. "Um, Methos, that's okay. Wouldn't want to put you out. There's a couch." When he'd accepted the invitation he'd assumed he'd be using the guest room. He shook his head. What was that about making an 'ass` out of `u' and `me`?

Methos gave his friend a sharp look. Shrugged. "Suit yourself." The ancient turned away and went into the kitchen. "Stew, bread and salad okay for dinner?" He'd decided to ignore the awkwardness of the situation.

"Sounds good."

"Okay. Make yourself comfortable. I'll heat it up."

The younger immortal put his burdens down and rummaged for clean clothes. "Shower?" he asked.

"En suite bath," Methos said, then went back to slicing bread.

MacLeod found the sumptuous bathroom. Laughed to himself. No wonder Methos loved the place.

Twenty minutes later, the Highlander hadn't reappeared. Methos went to the closed door. Was about to knock when the door opened. "Uh, Mac…"

The two immortals grinned at one another.

It had been a long time since they were alone together. They had drifted apart after Rich's death. And even more during the years that followed. Nor had they spent much time together in the six months Methos had been back in Seacouver.

The ancient immortal looked his friend over. It was almost as if they'd swapped styles. The Scot was comfortably dressed in soft, faded blue jeans and an over sized grey sweater. While Methos wore charcoal flannel dress trousers and a crisp white cotton shirt. They'd even swapped hairstyles. Although not to the extreme difference there once had been.

MacLeod didn't notice the look Methos was giving him. Instead, he was enjoying the homey aroma of the stew. "Smells good."

"Tastes better. Come on, let's eat."

The food was good. And the conversation not too strained since they stuck to recent events. MacLeod's plan for building a new DeSalvo's. In a safer part of the city. Methos' classes at the university where he was a visiting professor.

"Hassle-free academia," he said with a laugh. "No contracts, no crap to deal with. I can publish what I like. I can go when I want. Perfect."

The Scot nodded. Methos hadn't changed a bit.

After dinner, MacLeod insisted on doing clean-up duty. Methos agreed and headed for the shower. When he reentered the great room later, he found his friend settled on the end of the couch. Two snifters and a bottle of cognac rested on the coffee table. He could smell fresh-brewed coffee.

"Thanks," he said as he took his place in the opposite corner of the couch. He poured their drinks. "A toast, Mac. Let's not wait for another blizzard to get together again."

MacLeod looked at the ancient man for a moment. He knew he'd been the one to push Methos away. He should apologize. Yet, the old man was giving him a way out.

"No. No, Methos. Let's make this a fresh start."

Methos nodded. Sipped the cognac. Talked in generalities of his life. Took his cues from MacLeod.

Everything considered, it was a pleasant evening.

It was just about midnight that the storm struck in earnest. The wind began to pick up. Even inside the apartment they could hear it shrieking.

"Better get a fire going before the power goes," the Scot said. He stood and went to the fireplace. He looked it over carefully. Then looked over at Methos. "It's fake," he said flatly. "I thought you said this place had a working fireplace?"

"Mac, oh ye of little faith…" Methos rose and slipped past the Scot. "The one in the bedroom is real." His eyes sparkled as he regarded the look on his friend's face. Then gestured into the other room.

"It's going to get cold out here. Are you sure you don't want to share? Conserve body heat?" Through the doorway one could glimpse the enormous, canopied, four-poster.

"Noh!" The denial was out before the Highlander could stop it.

"It'd be like the good real-old days, Mac. Sharing a bed…" Methos knew he was deliberately pushing the Scot.

"I'll be just fine. Out here." MacLeod couldn't meet the ancient's eye.

Methos sighed. "Whatever." Shrugging, he went to the linen closet. Came out with an armload of sheets and blankets. "Here you go." He turned everything over to the Highlander. "Night, Mac."  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The power went out at three that morning. MacLeod, despite wearing a sweat suit and being piled with blankets, began to shiver. He got up and stepped off the rug onto the hardwood floor. It was like a block of ice. The Scot was instantly shivering harder than before. He hurried to the closet to see if there were more blankets. Of course, there weren't. The immortal looked back at his cold bed on the couch.

It wasn't fair. If only that damned fireplace worked. Sighing in resignation, the Scot opened the bedroom door. Compared to the great room, it was positively toasty.

The Highlander stepped onto the thick wool carpet. It felt wonderful to sink his toes into the nap. He looked at the bed. It was huge, taking up most of the space in the room. Was situated right in front of the carefully banked fireplace. MacLeod noted that the bed's drapes were closed on three sides. But left open at the foot. It would be nice and warm inside.

He walked around to the end of the bed and peered at the lone occupant. At the swaddled lump that was Methos. He was, of course, centered exactly down the middle of the bed. Oh, well, MacLeod thought, there's still plenty of room.

Going around to the left side of the bed he parted the drapes and lifted the bed covers. As carefully as he could, he slipped beneath them. But couldn't contain a wriggle of pleasure as he started to warm up.

The Highlander curled on his side away from Methos. Why had he been so adamant about not sharing a bed with this man? It wasn't like he hadn't ever done it before. Hell, he'd done more than just share a bed with friends. Not that he'd ever had anything like a relationship with a man.

But, sometimes, sometimes a memory surfaced that wasn't his own. Not all of the male immortals he had defeated had been straight. And of course, he had the memories of the women too.

MacLeod felt the bed move, and an accompanying heavy sigh. He held his breath. Methos didn't wake.

Byron. The memories he had had of Methos were... The Scot found himself blushing at the thought of them. The things the poet and Methos had done. MacLeod fell asleep with the erotic memory of Lord Byron and the oldest immortal replaying itself in his head.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Methos woke at dawn. Ran through his morning litany before he even stretched. He knew instinctively that the blizzard was still in full force. He wouldn't be going anywhere today.

He moved, stretched his legs. Rolled over. Realized he wasn't alone.

"What the…?" The old man tried to roll in the other direction only to find himself entangled in the covers.

"Mumph?"

"MacLeod?"

"Methos?"

The old man relaxed. Smiled. "You were expecting someone else, Mac?"

A giggle greeted his question.

"I take it you got cold?"

"It's freezing out there, Methos." MacLeod stretched and turned toward his friend. He could barely see Methos' face in the darkness. He smiled.

"Yes. And it's going to get cold in here if I don't get the fire going again." Methos started to get up. But he was entangled. "Uh, just a second." He rolled back towards the Scot so he could pull the covers from beneath himself.

"Here, let me help." MacLeod reached out and pulled the old man up against him. But once he had the sleep-warmed body in his arms, the last thing he thought about was letting him free. Instead, he leaned in and pressed his face against Methos' neck.

"Mac?" Methos barely breathed the man's name.

"Hm," the Scot rumbled.

"Mac, fire, remember? And, well, I need to go."

"Go? Where d'you need to be this early?"

"To piss, Mac. I have to piss." Methos wiggled a bit to try and free himself.

"Oh. Oh!" Another giggle erupted from the younger immortal. He'd just realized what was poking into his hip. "Well, okay. But it's a shame ta waste…" He swept his hand across Methos groin.

Methos reaction was instantaneous and loud. He groaned and thrust into MacLeod's grip. "Shit!"

"I would ha said fuck, m'self," the Highlander replied with a little laugh. But he let Methos loose and moved away.

The old man scrambled out of the bed, practically falling on his head. Had to grab the bed-curtains to keep himself upright. He looked back at his friend. Found himself totally speechless. Retreat, he told himself. Just get out of here. Take care of the important things first. Then, maybe, everything else will take care of itself. Yeah. Right. He quickly lit both of the oil lanterns he'd set out on the fireplace mantel and carried one out of the room.

MacLeod watched Methos carefully. Watched as he stopped before the fireplace at the end of the bed. Lit the lamps. When he heard the bath's door close, he got up and tended the fire. Had it blazing cheerily by the time the ancient returned.

"Thanks, " Methos said quietly. He replaced the lamp and stood warming his hands. Being careful not to look at the man sitting cross-legged at the end of his bed.

"Welcome," MacLeod acknowledged. He took the opportunity afforded by Methos' silence to study his friend. To really look at the man. For instance, he'd never noticed how thin Methos was. But not skinny. Even though Methos was wearing thermal underwear--black silk, no less--the Scot could tell he was in good shape. See the flex of sinewy muscles.

He could see the appeal of the old man's asceticism. He could. No wonder Byron had been captivated. And Kronos. MacLeod winced at that thought. He wasn't sure if Kronos and Methos had been--what? Somehow he didn't think lovers would be a fit definition for a relationship between two Horsemen. Not fuck-buddies, either. Nothing so casual.

Then, what? Kronos had been so overwhelmingly angry at Methos at the bitter end. At Methos' betrayal. There hadn't been much else to his quickening memories. Maybe. Maybe they had been more like brothers than anything else.

"Methos…?"

"Mac…"

The both spoke at the same time.

"You first," MacLeod said quietly.

"I…" The ancient stopped. "I checked the radio. They're not expecting the storm to end before tomorrow night. I have more than enough supplies. But, well, we're not going anywhere." He shrugged and smiled. "So, unless you're hungry, or something, we might as well go back to bed."

MacLeod looked at the old-fashioned mantle clock. It was almost seven. But it would still be dark outside. "Sure. Conserve heat and all," he said with a smile. "Just let me…" He hopped off the end of the bed and went into the bath.

When he returned, Methos was in bed. "Uh, want to leave the candle lit in the bath?"

"That'd be fine. But put these lamps out, will you?"

The Scot complied. Crawled under the covers on his side of the bed. After a few minutes spent getting comfortable, he spoke again. "Methos, what happened?"

Giving up his pretence of trying to sleep, the ancient turned to look at his friend. "What do you mean, MacLeod? I'm five-thousand-plus-years-old. You need to be more specific."

Snorting, the Highlander had to agree the man had a valid point. "After O'Rourke. You left. And you didn`t come back. Why?"

Why? Good question. Methos closed his eyes as he thought. How about because he was in mourning? MacLeod had killed his last student. A man he had loved. Yes, it had been a kind of insanity with Byron. But there it was. He and the poet had loved--in some perverse, egomaniacal kind of way.

Kronos. Who had been his savior, once upon a time. And Silas. He had been forced to kill Silas. His friend.

There had been guilt that he couldn't save Rich. Guilt that he didn't--couldn't--dare to tell the Highlander what he knew about Ahriman. He'd blatantly lied to MacLeod and Dawson back then.

Methos opened his eyes to find the Scot's face only a few inches from his own. He didn't move.

"Why didn't you come back to me, Methos? I needed you."

The ancient swallowed hard. "N-needed?" Right. "Mac, you needed me like you'd need a burr under your saddle. All I am, all I've ever been is an irritant to you."

"That's not true, Methos," the Scot said with feeling. "How many times did you come through for me? And I… I acted like it was nothing. Like it was something you owed me." He said the last quietly. Oh, God, but he had thought that.

"Maybe I did. Maybe I was, was trying to make up. Atone."

The Highlander looked deep into his friend's hazel eyes. The rest of Methos might look like a young man. But his eyes gave him away. Especially now. When he wasn't hiding behind one of his alter egos.

"I think you've done that, Methos. Atoned."

"Oh? And what makes you think that? Just because I run around pulling your arse out of a fire or two?"

"Well, when you put it like that? Yes." The Highlander grinned. "But that's not all, Methos. I saw for myself how you were with Alexa. And Joe, when he was shot…"

"Which led to Jacob…"

A finger pressed against Methos' lips. "Shh. Jacob's death was not your fault. Or Joe's. Or mine. He could have stopped. But he--I don't think he could. He loved Irena too much to live without her."

Methos leaned back. "What about Cassandra? Kronos? What I was…"

"Over two thousand years ago. I know. I never said I was sorry for saying what I did. I am sorry, Methos."

Taking a deep breath, Methos opened his mouth to say--anything. But not a word came out. He'd dreamed of his Highlander saying something like this for a long time.

"Speechless, old man? I'll have to mark this in my journal." MacLeod chuckled. Unexpectedly, casually, he reached and tweaked his friend's nose. "Look, I'm too awake. And I need exercise. I'm going to get dressed and do some katas in the other room."

Methos let the nose-thing go without a comment. Right now he was happy. Maybe there was a chance to mend things with MacLeod. "You do that. I'll get breakfast." He got up, pulled a quilted robe on over his thermals. Tugged sheepskin slippers over his socked feet.

He stood, and turned to glare at MacLeod when the Scot whistled appreciatively. "Ma-ac!"

"Hey, a man can appreciate a work of art, can't he?" He noticed the ancient's sudden flush. "The robe. Should be in a museum." The Scot smiled. "Oh, and where'd you get the silk thermals?"

"Don't you wish you knew," Methos said smugly. He went into the great room, detouring over to look out the heavily draped windows.

MacLeod followed him. "God, Methos, no wonder it's freezing in here!" Most of the west wall was windows and a set of French doors. Even three feet away, and with winter drapes, he could feel the cold air pooling around his feet.

"Oh, come on, Mac. You're just spoiled. You'll warm up when you start exercising."

"Spoiled? Right. And look who's bundled up like--like a Mandarin prince!"

Methos stopped and looked back at his friend. "Thank you, Mac. What a compliment," he snickered.

The Scot could only laugh. He had fallen neatly into Methos trap.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The stove and the apartment's water heater ran on gas. They were lucky in that. Luckier that they were able to amuse themselves. Not having cable, or radio, or computer access didn't bother them.

MacLeod exercised while Methos cooked breakfast. Showered while Methos cleaned the kitchen. When he came back into the chilly great room, he didn't see the ancient man. But he heard him in the kitchen. He was astounded by what he found Methos doing.

"Bread? You're making bread?"

"Scones. The bread is over there rising. And why not? It'll keep me busy. Besides, it won't go to waste. Holidays, you know. People are really appreciative of homemade gifts."

MacLeod stared at the old man who was elbow-deep in a large bowl of flour and butter. He'd never been around this Methos. This domestic Methos.

The ancient stopped what he was doing for a moment. "It's also a great reason to use the oven. It'll help warm things up." He grinned, then went back to work.

"O-kay." MacLeod found himself grinning too. "So, how can I help?"

"Thought you'd never ask. How are you at chopping dates?"  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Nuts!"

"What?"

"Damn, Methos, I forgot to put the nuts in his batch."

The old man laughed. "It's getting late, and this is the first screw up? I'm impressed. No big, Mac. So what if they're nutless. I'm sure they'll get eaten anyway." Methos picked up one of the still-warm oatmeal cookies and took a bite. "Good." He broke off a piece and held it out to his friend.

MacLeod leaned forward to take it from Methos' fingers. Then, at the last second, he moved. Only a little bit, and took fingertips into his mouth too. He was shocked at his action. And relieved. He and the old man had teased each other all day. Like they had before. Nothing new. Except this--whatever it was he had just done--went way past teasing.

Methos froze. Would have pulled away. But a large, hard hand had come up to grasp his wrist. He shifted his gaze from MacLeod's face to his hand. Back to look into the Scot's eyes. At this moment, eyes dark as the chocolate chips in the cookies.

"Ah…"

"Is that a good `ah,' or a bad `ah,' Methos?"

The Highlander's voice was low and seductive. Methos had heard it used often enough with Amanda to know it for what it was. Except, well, he'd never had it turned on him. He blinked owlishly at MacLeod for several seconds. It took a bit more time before he could think of anything to say.

"Well, MacLeod, if I'd known you got turned on by baking cookies…" He kept his tone as neutral as he could.

"What? Would you have tried it before?'

"Er…" Now, how the hell was he supposed to answer that? "Maybe. Would it have done me any good?"

"We'll never know, will we?" MacLeod took one step closer. A second. A third.

"No."

The Highlanded stopped. He gave Methos a sad smile. "I guess not."

"I didn't mean `no' now. I meant `no, we won`t know what would have happened back then.' Duncan, we have to forget the past. Forget how screwed up we were. Are." Methos closed the gap between them. Brought both hands up to hold MacLeod's head steady while he looked at him. Just looked at him.

"Duncan, I want you. I have since day one." He shushed the Scot before he could even open his mouth. "But I don't do 'hurt' very well. I don't want either of us to be hurt." Methos sighed.

"I can't make any promises. None. Not that I'll stay. Not that I won't die. Not that I'll love you forever."

"Methos…"

"Shh. I can't promise I will. But I can promise I'll try." The ancient grinned. "I've been trying for a very, very long time, Duncan."

"Aye, that you have, Methos." MacLeod moved to put his arms around the ancient's waist. Methos did the same. The younger immortal smiled and shifted so they were even closer. It was different than holding a woman. But it felt right. Like they were two oaks leaning against each other. Supporting one another. The Scot tucked his chin on Methos shoulder. "What do we do now," he asked softly.

"Well, we'd better get that last batch of cookies before they burn. And I've got the steaks to broil."

"Methos!"

"Duncan!"

"I like that, you know. When you call me Duncan." He took a breath and pulled away from the old man. "When, Methos, when can we…?"

There was no missing the desire in the Highlander's eyes. In his voice. In the way he touched. Methos was close to losing all control. But he doggedly held on. "Tonight, Duncan. Tonight." If you still want it, he added silently.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

MacLeod looked over at Methos. He swore the old man was stalling. First, he'd insisted they finish baking the huge batch of cookie's they'd just started. The nutless oatmeal ones. Then they'd had to clean up the baking mess before starting dinner.

So, it was almost nine before they had eaten. Then more cleanup.

Methos wanted to listen to the news. Not that it was that interesting. Though they did hear that the power was expected to be on sometime the next day.

Now they were sitting on opposite ends of the couch and Methos was reading. Reading, for God's sake. The Highlander swallowed the last of his scotch. Okay, time to make his intentions plain. He stood. Stretched. Ran his hands through his hair. Glanced back at the old man. Nothing. He still had that prodigious nose stuck firmly in his book. MacLeod walked behind the couch and reached over to pull the book out of Methos hands. "What's so interesting?" He glanced at the page and blushed crimson.

Methos snickered. "Ooh, where's a camera when you need one?"

The Highlander shook his head. "I should have known you'd have something like this around here. Do you have the `Gay Man's Kama Sutra,' too?"

"Somewhere." The ancient laughed. "Want me to find it for you?"

"No. I. Do. Not."

As Methos watched, MacLeod vaulted over the couch to land right in front of him. Then he found himself being hauled up and into the arms of a rather pissed-off Scot.

"Mac."

"Duncan."

"Duncan," Methos said with a grin, "it was a joke."

"Joke's over. It's bedtime."

"I'm not sleepy." The old man was being maneuvered towards the bedroom. Resisting. Just a little. He wasn't going to make this too easy for MacLeod.

"Good thing we're not going to sleep then, huh, Methos," the Highlander asked as they crossed the bedroom's threshold. He closed the door, then leaned against it. Folded his arms and gazed silently at the oldest of their kind. Mine, he thought suddenly. All mine.

Methos' mouth went dry when he saw how MacLeod was looking at him. `Be careful what you wish for,' a tiny voice warned. `Too late,' another sighed. "Oh, fuck."

"Good idea!"

"Ma-Duncan, are you…"

"Sure? Yes."

"No. Out of your mind," Methos said softly. "I know you've never done anything like this. Maybe you should think about it." As he spoke, the Scot had crossed to him. Now they stood toe to toe. Eyes level. Methos watched as his Highlander's lips drew near.

"Come. Shower. Then bed." He took Methos' hand and led him unresisting into the bathroom. Pushed him to sit on the bench outside the shower. The nice, big, double shower. Smiling, he lit a few more candles. Got out more towels. Started the water to warm up the room.

Methos moved like he was entranced. He let MacLeod undress him. Thankful that it was done efficiently, emotionlessly. Allowed himself to be pushed under the warm blast of water. Okay. He could do this. He reached for soap and washcloth. Encountered the warm, wet Scot. "Oh." He blinked the water out of his eyes to stare at the other man.

"Let me, please?" MacLeod had the shampoo, and was watching his friend. When Methos acquiesced, he poured out a dollop and went to work. Smiling at the old man's reaction. He wondered when he'd last been pampered. By anyone. He turned Methos so he could rinse his hair, then soaped the cloth and began to wash his body.

He's way too good at this, Methos thought. He'd encountered trained body slaves that weren't half this--stop right now. The ancient shook his head. Had to gasp and brace himself as MacLeod worked the cloth over the most intimate parts of his body. God, this was going to kill him. But, what a way to go!

Methos' shower done, MacLeod began his own ablutions. Quickly. He was more than ready for the next part of the evening. He was using the detachable spray to make sure he was completely rinsed when he felt Methos' hands on his hips.

He turned, unexpectedly finding Methos on his knees before him. He watched Methos' face as those hands slipped lower to grip his buttocks. Squeeze gently. Then the right hand moved around to cradle his scrotum. Caress. Move on to grip the base of his penis. Stroke. Peel back the foreskin. He forgot about the shower. About the times this had happened before.

It was Methos doing it. Methos, ah. MacLeod shuddered as warm lips closed over him. The sucking of his lover rocked him forward and he swayed on his feet. Methos caught him around the waist and held him easily. The steady suction never faltered. Licking. Nipping. Tongue massaging every part of his shaft.

Methos drew away when he realized how close the Scot was to orgasm. It was his turn to take charge as he turned off the shower and got them dry. Into the bed that MacLeod had arranged earlier. He added a couple more pieces of wood to the fire and settled onto the bed. Into his lover's arms.

"That was…"

"Nothing special, Duncan. Really. Just a little, hm--call it a sample."

The Scot noted the teasing tone. "Sample. Okay, so what's next on the menu?"

Methos looked at the Highlander with a serious expression on his face. To his surprise he wasn't sure. Even more surprising, he felt himself blushing. "God if I know, Mac." He gave the other man a half-smile. "You know I've read your Chronicle. I know you've had strong friendships, alliances, with more than a few male immortals."

The ancient's smile grew wider. "But you always seemed to live up to that 'woman-magnet' reputation." Methos shrugged. "What do you want, Duncan?"

"Anything I want?"

"Yes."

The Highlander looked at Methos for a moment. Then realized that he meant that literally. The man would give him, Duncan MacLeod, whatever he wanted. "Remind me, Methos. Remind me what it's like to fall in love. Be in love. What it's like to be happy. To give. And take without…" He stopped. Unable to continue. Overcome with emotion. He felt Methos tighten his arms around him.

"We'll remind each other, Duncan."  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Highlander shifted carefully. Methos' warm weight against him made him smile. They were entangled in each other's arms. This night had been one of profound revelations. For both of them, he knew. He kissed his lover's forehead and was rewarded with a carress.

"I thought you were asleep."

"Resting," Methos murmured. "Mac, was it okay?"

"Okay? I think it was more than okay, Methos." The Scot chuckled. "I don't think I've ever come that hard in my life."

"Not even with…"

"Shut up, old man, no talking about the past." MacLeod leaned in to kiss his lover quiet. "No kiss-and-tell."

"Agreed." Methos smiled. "So, what do we do now, Duncan? I mean, this--us. It's going to come as a shock to a lot of people." A whole lot of people.

"Uh." MacLeod hadn't thought further than this night. What did he want now? Besides having Methos at his side. In his bed. In his life. All of his life.

Methos sighed as MacLeod hesitated. It would be a big change. And in the present climate of the world, a challenge. "It's okay. We can go as slow as you like."

"Slow? No, Methos. The only slow I want is when we make love." He smiled at his lover.

Methos smiled. "Now?"

"Now."  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Happy Yule, Joe!"

"Yeah, happy birthday, Mac!" The greybeard smiled at the Highlander. "Hey, where's our weather prognosticator?"

"Adam? He's right behind me. Or should be. He had some stuff to drop off at the shelter."

"Ah, yeah, that's right. I forgot he was helping out there." Joe pulled a beer for his friend and put it in front of him. "So, you two make out all right during the blizzard?"

The Scot grinned. "I guess you could say so."

"Good. Good." The Watcher leaned against the bar. "Glad to hear that."

A moment later MacLeod got up and started towards the front door. Got there just as Methos pushed it open. He took half the stack of boxes the ancient immortal carried.

"Adam, what's all this?" Joe asked.

"Yule cookies," the Scot answered. "We had a baking marathon."

"What?"

"During the storm, Joe," Methos answered. He put his boxes on the bar. Let MacLeod help him out of his coat. Turned, and gave his lover a dazzling smile.

Which the Scot returned unselfconsciously.

Joe, in the act of pulling a beer for Methos, looked from one immortal to the other. Damn. He'd seen looks like that before. MacLeod and Tessa. Methos and Alexa.

"Hey!"

Methos' exclamation brought the mortal's attention to the matter at hand. "Geez!" He looked down at the overflowing mug.

"What a waste," Methos said mournfully.

MacLeod chuckled, and pulled Methos in for a quick kiss. "Don't worry, love, there's plenty more where that came from." He looked over at his Watcher. "Right, Joe? Joe?"

The greybeard was staring at them with an intense look on his face. He opened and closed his mouth. Twice. Finally, he shook his head. "Guys, you have something you want to tell me?"

"Yeah. Yes we do, Joe." MacLeod looked at Methos and smiled.

End


End file.
